slices;
three dishes of the cakes, and everything in the greatest profusion. No
fear of our starving here. The land-lady seemed as if she could not
press us enough, and we were at home directly. Her husband is living
with her, a fat, good-natured old soul. There are eight or ten boarders,
two or three of them ladies--two servants. For breakfast we had
excellent flavored coffee, hot and strong, not too clear and no great
deal of cream; veal cutlets, elegant ham-and-eggs and nice bread and
butter. I never sat down to a more plentiful or a nicer breakfast. I
wish you could have seen the eggs, and the great dishes of meat. I ate
the first hearty breakfast I have eaten since we left our little home.
Sis is delighted, and we are both in excellent spirits. She has coughed
hardly any and had no night-sweat. She is now mending my pants, which I
tore against a nail. I went out last night and bought a skein of silk,
a skein of thread, two buttons and a tin pan for the stove. The fire
kept in all night. We have now got four dollars and a half left.
To-morrow I am going to try and borrow three dollars, so that I may have
a fortnight to go upon. I feel in excellent spirits and have not drank a
drop, so that I hope soon to get out of trouble. The very instant that I
scrape together enough money I will send it on. You can't imagine how
much we both miss you. Sissy had a hearty cry last night because you and
Catalina weren't here. We are resolved to get two rooms the first moment
we can. In the meantime it is impossible that we can be more comfortable
or more at home than we are. Be sure to go to the P. O. and have my
letters forwarded. It looks as if it were going to clear up now. As soon
as I can write the article for Lowell, I will send it to you and get you
to get the money from Graham. Give our best love to Catalina."

(Signature cut out here.)

In this letter, written as simply and as unreservedly as that of a child
to its mother, we see Poe himself--Poe in his real nature. Not the poet,
with his studied affectation of gloom and sadness; not the critic,
severe in his judgment of all that did not agree with his standard of
literary excellence, and not even the society man, wearing the mask of
cold and proud reserve--but Poe himself; Poe the man, shut in from the
eyes of the world in the privacy of his home life and the companionship
of his own family. Who could recognize in this gentle, kindl